


Fic: Hush

by AlexisJane



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Job, Bottom!Sam, Hand Job, Hurt!John, M/M, Mouth Covering, Sam is 16, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-17
Updated: 2014-05-17
Packaged: 2018-01-25 11:12:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1646564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexisJane/pseuds/AlexisJane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              
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    <span>ETA - now with bonus birthday art by the fabulous Milly! : ) </span>
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	Fic: Hush

**Title -** Hush  
**Pairing -** Dean/Sam  
**Rating -** NC-17  
**Disclaimer -** These are my words but all my base are belong to Kripke, Sera, Ben or whoever so don't sue me. It's just for fun.  
**Word count -** 2400ish  
**Warnings -** Underage (Sam is 16, mentions of younger), bottom!Sam, hurt!John, mouth covering, Wincest, blow job, hand job, etc, etc.

**A/N -** For the [](http://spn-otpkink.livejournal.com/profile)[**spn_otpkink**](http://spn-otpkink.livejournal.com/) meme prompt - The boys have been fucking for some time, but now John has a broken leg and is home 24/7. I would just like to see the boys getting creative in ways to hide their fucking from John. Bonus points for fucking while John is in the house and Dean telling Sam he has to be quiet.

 

 

~•~

Sam jumped as he heard the door of the Impala slam closed outside. He prayed his Dad hadn’t notice. It had been four weeks of his constant attention and he felt like his nerves were on a knife’s edge. His heart was pounding in his chest but he stayed hunched over the open schoolbooks on the table. He’d been reading the same line over and over for the last twenty minutes waiting for Dean to get home. His heart was in his mouth when he heard the key in the lock. He couldn’t take it any longer.

When he’d got the call from Dean four weeks ago _Dad’s hurt Sammy. He’s okay but I’m taking him to the hospital,_ he had been so scared _oh god, Dean are you okay?_ It was the call he always dreaded _Of course, Sammy. I’m good. We’re good. Promise_ They thought they were keeping him safe, leaving him behind when they went off to hunt, but sometimes he thought that he might tear himself apart with worry.

Now, now he was just pissed. Pissed at Dad for going at werewolf half-cocked and getting his leg broken but more pissed at Dean for tormenting him over the last week.

Normally, it was pretty easy to get some time alone. Even when they were on the road over the summer break, all three of them crammed into the same motel room, it wasn’t impossible to get an hour or two on their own and those rare occasions when John left them overnight, it was like a gift. John had apologized over and over about being away for Sam’s fifteenth birthday and for the first time, when Sam had said “It’s okay Dad.” he’d actually meant it.

Dean had always been so firm with him, no matter how hard he begged and pleaded, that he absolutely, positively, would not fuck him until Sam turned sixteen. It was the one hard and fast rule he had laid down from the first morning that he’d woken up to Sam kneeling on the edge of his bed, pumping his own cock with one hand, gripping Dean’s with the other as he licked the pre come from the tip.  
Why he had changed his mind, Sam didn’t know. Maybe it had been that last growth spurt finally taking him as tall as his brother but he was coming up for his seventeenth birthday and they’d been fucking for nearly two years.

Except they hadn’t. Not for the last four weeks anyway. And it was driving Sam insane. Yes, because his hormone fueled body need to have his brother in him at every possible opportunity but more because Dean was an ass. Wandering around half naked, running his hands over Sam’s skin, sliding that damn pen in and out of his damn mouth when he was supposed to be researching.  
And the whole time, Dad right there, on the couch, leg stretched out, thick with plaster, surrounded by books and newspapers, one eye on the TV, one eye on Sam, fucking micro managing. “Did you do your homework yet, Sammy?” “Don’t forget you have drama club tonight, Sammy” “I want you to work on accuracy with the shotgun this weekend, Sammy”, like he was a regular parent or something. Like Sam hadn’t been managing his own schedule for years.

It wasn’t that they hadn’t had the opportunity once or twice.

The first week, Dean had driven him after school to the middle of nowhere and blown him on the backseat of the Impala, Sam’s fingernails scratching across the leather, spit dribbling from Dean’s lips onto his ballsack, trying to stifle a shout when Dean grabbed both his wrists, slamming Sam’s hands on the back of his head, letting Sam hold his hair and fuck into his face, for the final few thrusts before he came and Dean swallowed and swallowed.  
But just moments after Sam had zipped his jeans, a patrol car pulled up, the officer leaning an elbow on his open window and made eye contact with him over Dean's shoulder, as Dean was scooting out backwards from between his legs. “Everything alright, son?”

Sam didn’t even blink. He smiled wide and called out “Yes, sir. Lost my contact. My brother found it though so we’re good.”

Dean threw him a _Damn! Drama club is really paying off, Sam!_ look as he slid out and stood, turning to the cop and smiling “Can’t keep the damn things in his head. Thanks for checking though, officer.”

They’d both been a little reluctant to go too far after that. Outside was obviously too risky and at the apartment…well. The bathroom was an option but either of them in there individually for any length of time seemed to spike John’s radar, so trying to both sneak in wasn’t really an option.  
And although they were used to the lack of privacy that regular people would consider a human right, and although there was a lot to be said for open plan living, the apartment they had rented that semester was really pushing the bounds of reason. And John was planted right in the center, virtually every corner visible from the couch that had become his permanent spot. Like a spider at the center of a web. So they had to just take what they could get.

Jerking off together, in separate beds, watching each others faces as their hands moved beneath the covers, trying to remember how the other felt, how they tasted, coming with each others names whispering on their lips.

Frantic moments, hands fisting in each others clothes, panting into the other’s open mouth as they ground their fully hard, fully clothed cocks together, Dean pinning Sam back hard against the cold bathroom tiles, with the door wide open so they didn’t draw attention. Never quite enough, never close enough, before John would call out for one or the other of them and they had to use all their willpower to pull away from each other, smoothing out clothing, pulling oversized shirts down to hide wet tipped bulges. Dean using his thumb to smear his spit off Sam’s lower lip, the look in his eyes the violent side of hunger.

Last week, Sam had stuck his hand down Dean’s shorts while he had been washing dishes, jerking him hard and dirty, the sound of the radio covering the filthy slapping and Dean’s heavy breath, and the grunt as he came. Unfortunately, it also covered the sound of John moving about, stumbling in while Sam’s hand was still in his brother’s underwear. Luckily, he was too preoccupied with trying to get his cast under the kitchen table to see Dean pull Sam’s come covered hand out of his pants and dunk it in with the dishes, making some crack about Sam being a brat and splashing him. John scowled at Sam and his chagrin was utterly genuine.

That had been a week ago and the pair of them had barely done more than kiss slow and deep in the Gas and Sip parking lot, one deserted Sunday morning on the way back from the 5am run John had decided was a good idea.

But then earlier, when John had sent Dean out to get the raft of newspapers he needed for research, plus a few other things, gun oil, pain relief; “…and some cereal Dean, God knows where you boys are putting it but we’re out, again…actually get two boxes this time…and milk.”; as Dean was leaving he pressed up against Sam’s back and put his ear close to Sam’s, as he laid out the books to finish his English assignment on the kitchen table and whispered, “I have an idea. Prep for me, Sammy. Be wet for me when I get back.” And then he was gone.

Sam stood there for a moment, his heart still in his throat, praying that his dick didn’t get any harder just yet. Then he stretched and yawned and made some lame excuse about needed a shower before he got to work and John didn’t bat an eyelid.

Sam spent as long as he could under the spray of the water, working his fingers into himself and then a similar amount of time toweling off and trying to push as much lube as he could up, corkscrewing three fingers, heavy with slick until he was scared he wouldn’t last beyond seeing Dean walk back in the door.

By the time he did, by the time the roar of the Chevy forewarned it, when he heard Dean’s key slide into the lock, he was nearly going out of his mind.

Sam’s jumped again as the front door slammed shut. He stayed focused on looking like he wasn’t paying attention, which was a lot easier with his back to the door and his Dad.

“What took you so long? You’ve been nearly two hours” John said exactly what Sam was thinking.

“Well, I was on my way back when I saw this antiquarian bookstore and I took a chance.”

Sam turned in his chair, one hand on the backrest, in time to see John pulling a dusty old tome out of a brown paper bag. He eyebrows went up as he read the title. “You found this?”

“Yes, sir. Is it okay?”

“It’s more than okay, son. But next time you tell me if you take a detour.”

“Yes, sir. I got the gun oil so I’m going to make a start on the weapons, if you don’t need me?”

He barely received a grunt. John was already engrossed in the book. It was like the rest of the world had disappeared. Dean looked up at Sam and winked. Sam felt his chest flush pink under his teeshirt as Dean walked into the kitchen.

There was one blind spot. A space directly in front of the couch, between the entrance to the kitchen and the refrigerator in the corner of the room. They could both just about fit there and not be seen from John’s vantage point.

Dean strolled slowly into the kitchen and headed for the sink. He took a glass from the drainer and filled it from the tap. He turned and leant back, meeting the gaze that had followed him in. They looked at each other for a moment, the only sounds, the soft murmuring of the TV and John turning the pages of the book. Sam sat opened mouthed as Dean took a drink and then flicked his eyes over to the vacant piece of drywall.  
Slowly, Sam pushed himself out of his chair. He walked casually over and then leant back in the vacant space, bracing himself against the thin wall as he was pretty sure his legs weren’t going to hold him for long. As Dean walked to him, they both started to unbutton their flies. Sam’s eyes went wide as Dean crowded into him. He opened his mouth, expecting to meet Dean’s but Dean’s mouth went to Sam’s ear and his whispered low, “If we’re going to do this Sammy, you have to be silent. Not just quiet. Silent. Can you do that for me Sammy? Can you keep that dirty mouth of yours shut?”

It was all Sam could do to not let the whimper in his throat escape, but he nodded, and gently Dean took him by the shoulders and turned him to face the wall.

He panted through the penetration. Even with the prep, it had been a while and the sting was more than he was used to but Dean just shushed him softly.  
But when Dean hit his prostate and Sam squeaked, even though it was almost inaudible, Dean wasn’t taking any chances.

He clamped one forearm around Sam’s waist and put his other hand hard over Sam’s mouth. Sam instinctively put both hands up and took hold of Dean’s fingers and wrist but Dean whispered in his ear, “Hush now, Sammy. Be good for me, nice and quiet. Okay?”

Sam had no choice but to nod his head with the little movement Dean was allowing him. As soon as he did, Dean started to pick up the pace, fucking him harder and harder, trying not to bottom out so he didn’t slap up against Sam’s ass but all the same, Sam felt the tingle at the bottom of his spine exploded all too quickly and within seconds he was coming onto the floor in front of him. Dean made it moments later, the last hard thrusts almost causing them both to almost topple forwards.  
Dean peeled his clammy fingers away from Sam’s lips, the air cool where his hot digits had been and then he was pulling out of him, rubbing a rough towel in between his ass cheeks, Sam wincing as the fabric scraped on his sensitive hole. He turned as he pulled up his jeans, to see Dean wiping his soft cock and grinning like an idiot. Sam leant forward and pressed his smiling lips to Dean’s as he buckled his belt. As he did, John called out from the sofa “Dean! What are you boys up to?”  
Sam blanched but Dean just laughed low and called back, “Just coming!” He winked at Sam as he walked to the couch as if nothing happened. Like he hadn’t just fucked his baby brother not ten feet from his father.

Sam leant back against the wall, covered his face with his hands and breathed out. _Two more weeks,_ he thought. _I can wait two more weeks._

They didn’t.


End file.
